I got another mushroom spore block last Christmas. The family biologists seem to enjoy them, and have looped me in. And I diligently grow them. Because they are kind of neat.
The first batch I grew were yellow oyster mushrooms, which had a pleasant mushroom-y taste. Then Dad brought me down some foraged Chicken of the Woods, which I recently wrote about, and tasted quite pleasant with indeed a chicken-type flavor and texture.
But the wine caps, for which I created a dedicated “garden” in a half bourbon barrel with straw, failed to fruit despite clear signs of ongoing inoculation. Finally, after nearly 6 months, they appeared.
So to try them, I applied a light sauté as to not muddle the flavors.
And they were terrible. Sweet and astringent. Yuck. Not recommended. I think I’ll send the rest up with Dad for him to try. What a disappointment for such a long wait. Oh well.
Many moons ago, I began smoking my own bacon. Inspired by a certain blog post, I invested my time yet again into insourcing development so as to create a superior and cheaper (personal time excluded) product. I brought it in house, as MBAs say. Or do they? I’ve never heard one actually talk about doing that. They just send work to India.
I don’t think many Hindus or Buddhists eat bacon though.
As as with most instructions, this formed a foundational starting point, but they can always be improved upon. And thus, after several attempts, I present my enhanced version. Here it is:
Mix brine. Use a 2:1 ratio of a standard Kosher salt brine and Morton’s Tender Quick. Here’s the measurements that will provide 3/4 gallon’s worth of brine, which should be sufficient: 1/4 cup Kosher salt, 1/4 cup brown sugar, 1 cup Tender Quick, 12 cups water.
Submerge pork belly in brine (FoodSaver bags are mighty convenient).
7 days later, on the 7th day itself, remove pork belly from brine and rinse. Air dry (a box fan is helpful here).
Preheat smoker to 200 degrees F with hickory/pecan wood mix.
Smoke pork belly until it reaches an internal temperature of 165 F.
After that, just cool the meat. An hour in a deep freeze will firm it up for slicing. Then it’s just bagging, sealing, and freezing for long term storage.
Where have I deviated? Well, for starters, using a mix of standard salt and curing salt reduces the sodium nitrate content. Ignoring health concerns (because this is bacon, after all), this reduces the perceived saltiness while still retaining that nice pink bacon color. Reducing the curing time by half a day also reduces the saltiness, as does rinsing the meat pre-smoke. Trust me – it’s still salty. But it’s much easier to skip the rinse for a saltier taste if desired than it is to try to soak the salt out when using the longer brining times/higher sodium nitrate amounts for a less salty taste later. And finally, at 160 F, meat will hit its stall point in the smoker where water begins to quickly evaporate out. Going to 165 F will ensure a drier product; which means less cooking time, less splattering while cooking, and crispier edges.
I also estimated some savings. Compared to premium market bacon, which is what this is, it’s about half the cost per slice. But I can also control the salt level and flavor. It’s an aggravating endeavor, but also one that can be significantly weighed against the convenience of store-bought bacon uncertainty!
You can take away a man’s dignity but you can’t work his fields and cows.
Family legend has it that the old family farm, which my grandparents ultimately sold (yet another example of the ongoing death of all small family farms), was an original land grant plot parceled out as government payment to a veteran of the Continental Army.
My grandparents didn’t inherit this property. They acquired it sometime in the late 1950s, after my father had been born. I haven’t dug that deeply into the Moorheads’ lineage, so I don’t know offhand the level of our involvement in the American Revolutionary War. “Moorhead” – head of the moors – is Scottish by origin, hailing from the lowlands – Glasgow region. (That might explain something about my family’s temperament.) And the Lowland Scots immigrated in the 1700s, so it’s possible. And that group supposedly immigrated voluntarily to New England cities, and were supposedly of the more professional and merchant classes. Dunno why my family ended up farming. I assume it was more lucrative back then.
But it checks out with my own genetics test, which pinpoints a high percentage of my bloodline coming through Pennsylvania. And Philadelphia is a specific city called out in the Lowland Scots’ immigration paths. So this all aligns roughly: At some point when the country was young, the Moorheads came to Pennsylvania and migrated west to Ohio.
Anyway, back to the farm.
When the farm was acquired, it included some items with the property. The specific item of note for the purpose of this post is an ox yoke. It’s very old, naturally. Remember, the plot of land was very old, and always used for agriculture, and presumably it dated back to the original owners. That part’s oral history. Like so much of family history, it can’t definitively be verified. But if it’s true, it’s a cool story.
The yoke always hung in the farmhouse, then my grandparents’ retirement house, then it passed to dad. And just recently, he granted me stewardship. As the last blood-born male heir to the Moorhead line, it needed to be honored appropriately. And I had just the spot for it.
Thanks to the AirBnB movement, there are a lot of rustic-themed mounting options. For this application, I chose an iron pipe with applicable fittings. The idea was to compensate for the ceiling joists not being centered over the archway.
Ta-daa!
Since my grandfather refinished it, any monetary value it might have is strictly personal. But that’s all right with me, since it fits the nostalgia bill properly, like the old farmhouse shotgun.
The cultural zombie phase was fun, for a time. Then I started to notice that a segment of people actually believed they were real, or could be. And I’m not talking about that creepy part of Voodoo and their supposed zombifying drugs. I mean, some people actually thought that the majority of the population turning into violent flesh-eating monsters was a possible apocalyptic outcome for humanity. Zombies became less fun, knowing that not everyone was going along with the gag.
Personally, I thought the fantasy had gained so much traction because it scratched a certain violent desire in all of us to be morally permitted to kill other people…because they’re not people per se, but still the physical form of people, and that lets us justify it. I can’t shoot a neighbor I don’t like, but if that neighbor became a zombie well, that would be okay. Because not only am I now allowed to kill this neighbor, but I’m obligated to. For the future of humanity.
Yeah, that’s totally normal to find in one’s crawlspace.
Moving on, I have a crawlspace. Not just any crawlspace, but a dungeon of a crawlspace. Like the kind from those Evil Dead movies. But instead of a trapdoor, it has a full size vertical home interior door. Because the prior owner had dug out a portion of the crawlspace (supposedly to breed worm colonies for fishing bait – sure, whatever). Admittedly, it does make access to the bathroom plumbing much easier, but damn is it creepy. Compounded by the bizarre assortment of objects remaining within, like a work table above which hangs a single lightbulb. And discarded women’s undergarments. And rusty blades. You get the idea.
The door is also shabbily hung, with no backstop trimming to close it properly. I’ve been meaning to fix that so it seals tight and keeps the mice out.
But rather than tackle a practical project, I decided instead that this doorway to hell needed decorating. I thought about the classic Divine Comedy quote, but that didn’t quite seem to fit. No, it needed something more embedded within Americana. Like zombies, for instance!
It’s fun what you can find on Amazon these days!
Then combined with some hardware hanging around the garage and food coloring, and…
No, that wasn’t enough. More creep factor needed. After some contemplation, I hooked up an electronic actuator to tap the door and wired it into a motion-activated plug. Now, when someone approaches the door to investigate: “tap” “thunk” “tap” “thunk”…teehee.
I might not be a zombie myself, but I think this project will at least make others consider I’ve lost my mind regardless.
Americans have an odd association with the Japanese. Following generational subsiding of WWII resentments, their culture crept into our cinema, represented as a dichotomy of both warriors and meditative perfectionists, personified in the Miyagi-type character (although technically Okinawan). Then apparently they became relentlessly career-oriented, who work themselves to suicide.
And from this toxic life path, Americans are oft compared as a sort of half-sibling, who admire their relentless capitalist pursuits and supposed ability to maintain their dignity of the soul while still contributing to the greater society. I can see it. Work forever to provide and go to church.
But I think we’re more like the Chinese. We approach capitalism in a similar manner of unsustainable growth and consolidation of the wealth therein produced, continue to allow those least suited to lead determine our government policies, and we hate each other (supposedly). And really, no one likes themselves, so dissenting ideologically with an entire culture is probably more telling of a similarity than a difference. (Don’t even get me started on Russia.)
But I also own a katana and aquascape my aquarium. So I’m not entirely disassociated. And then there’s also The Way of the Househusband, which resonates.
And bonsai. No, I don’t practice the art, but I’ve refined my own version: macro bonsai. Translated literally, that would sound like a paradox, but hear me out. As a non-native Ohioan, I like trees. Alas, they are expensive and slow to grow, but not the black locust!
Stage 1 specimen
Locusts have some “advantages” as suburban trees, depending on how you look at it. They’re colony plants, meaning they appear in non-forested areas before other trees, thereby starting the first stages of forestation. Obviously in areas where suburbanites don’t want trees, such as landscaped lawn where one’s landscaping company would charge extra for the bother of mowing around a tree, they’re undesirable. However, if one were to happen to appear in a desirable location, such as an open lot needing some shade, they present an opportunity to quickly attain canopy.
This is because they sprout from the ground as root suckers. A local parent plant, spreading its roots, will reproduce this way. The new tree, being attached to the parent, has access to the larger root system. So it grows quickly. Add to that the fact that locusts are legumes, and fertilization remains largely unnecessary. They’re completely self-reliant.
Stage 2 specimen
But they do need training. Following emergence, new growth is bushy. To obtain a tree shape, side branches need to be trimmed off as the plant grows. They’re also very thorny at this stage, but fortunately my trees are of the variety that the thorns stay small and disappear completely on larger trees. Regular trimming will also force upward growth, leading to quicker canopy.
Stage 3 specimen
Ultimately it’s a matter of personal taste as to which side branches should be left to grow, and each tree and its location is unique. But all side branches should be removed unless the growth is vertical, until the minimum desired height is achieved. In my case, my own height is the benchmark. If I can walk under the tree without ducking, then it’s at minimum required height and I start letting side branches above this height start to grow and fill out the canopy.
Stage 4 specimen
Beyond this, it’s just a matter of letting it grow until it becomes the electric company’s problem. Total time involved: 2-3 years. Not bad for a free tree, and it’ll grow faster than anything manually planted.
Stage 5 specimen, which had the unfortunate experience of being pollarded by the falling silver maple, but bounced back nicely.
It’s a much shorter timeframe, and using much larger trees (a native, in fact), than bonsai. I think I’ll call it dendroforming instead, to give it a more western type nomenclature. It certainly isn’t Japanese, but I’ll give them a respectful nod at their influence.
